Phoenix Ashes
by PhoenixRoseQueenToo
Summary: We were his prisoners. We were their punishment. We were entertainment. That first year, sixteen students entered the arena. They were to fight to the death, until only one remained. Year one of the Phoenix Games
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

After Voldemort's rise during the Triwizard Tournament, we should have known that it was too late. The Dark Lord well it could be safely assumed that after he was so careless trying to kill baby Harry Potter all those years ago, it wasn't likely that he would be so reckless again. Harry's so-called "luck" last spring was planned. Priori Incantatem might have been an accident, but Potter was supposed to escape. He was supposed to alert the world to his return. The Dark Lord wanted the Ministry to find out; he already had his people in position. He wanted to scare the Ministry, freeze them, cause them to panic. There was fighting that summer; blood, curses, death, slaughter.

War.

Neither wizards nor Muggles were safe. We students were all put into "safety"; from Muggle-borns to purebloods, schooled and home-taught crammed in an underground labyrinth, so easy to get lost in. And we did get lost. A few of us died. We were crammed, wondering, scared. Adults came and went, but none stayed longer than was needed to drop off supplies and keep count. The responsibility was left to the oldest of us, the sixth and the seventh years. The little ones attached themselves to older students, some taking on the role of older siblings or even parents. Then even we started fighting. A particularly nasty bout between two boys resulted in our wand "privileges" being revoked. "Removing the temptation," the Order had claimed. Speculation was that they needed to replace those wands that were broken in battle. As a result most of us became self-sufficient. We had to make supplies last. Find water sources. Some of the boys found exits to the system of tunnels we lived in. They brought back plants, wood, random materials we could use. Sometimes they brought back meat, but not often. The girls figured out how to start fire without a spell. We'd grown almost completely dependent on ourselves.

It was half into August when the fighting finally stopped. There was a winner.

Voldemort.

There was no time between our liberation from underground and our arrival at a "rehabilitated" Hogwarts. None of us were sure that this "new" school was even the same castle. Whereas the old Hogwarts was majestic and a little imposing, this renovated version was not only imposing but intimidating and haunting. No longer did it represent a home -it was a prison. Not only were we abandoned by our families - didn't know if we still _had_ them - but we lost our home and were forced to assimilate to this hostile place.

It got better. Still not good, but an improvement. We got fresh air and sun. We weren't enclosed in small spaces anymore. We got our wands back, some of us fitted for new wands. Never thought that we would be happy to be back in classes. Most of the old school restrictions were lifted. It was almost like Hogwarts had never changed, improved almost. _Almost_. None of our former professors remained, not even Hagrid or Filch. Magic was performed openly in corridors and encouraged to be used on one another. There were also a hundred new rules, the most notable being: #3- Do not speak unless spoken to (the adults anyway); #2- No lying and no stealing; #1- Never speak of the "Old Regime." Amongst us students there really was only one rule, perhaps the most important one of all: _Don't get caught._ With so many strange, absurd, and very seldom reasonable rules, it was the best alternative and simplest to follow. Not only did it save one skin, but several.

A boy lied about having his homework and got a full minute of the Cruciatus while his table partner got several lashes.

A girl sneaked out of bed after hours and got two minutes in her legs while the person she went to meet got three. An accomplice might have received one minute.

A boy who stole potion ingredients for his sister's itching rash got _crucio'd_ and several slashes of sectusempra. His sister's rash was inflamed and she was forced to bare it without medication. Then since the rash was contacted from someone else, she was punished as well.

And the rest of us were forced to watch.

There was no set punishment for any infraction of the rules. Most of the time it was all determined by who was caught by which professor and what mood they were in.

Then one day it happened. We woke in the morning to find sixteen of our classmates missing, gone in the night. Did they run away? Find some sort of escape route or passage from the castle and just leave? It did not seem likely. And as the days passed and the students stayed gone, we started to notice that the professors seemed unfazed, but expectant. Pleased.

Assembly. That's how it was announced. Every wizarding child from the first to the seventh year was seated in a chair, the Great Hall rearranged so that the chairs filled the expanse of floor facing the High Table; the house tables nowhere to be seen. Carrows was the new headmaster; few of us remembered which one was Amycus and which one was Alecto. He stood at the head of the room on the dais, the High Chair just behind him. No one trusted that sweet smile, gentle tone; it was all in those eyes. Those crazy, yellowed, terrifying, mischievous eyes.

Carrows started with the war. Explained the causes and results to us for the first time. No matter which "side" would have won, it was pretty clear that we children would have lost anyway. He pointed out the benefits of the change in the "tides", and what we will accomplish in the future, that we _are_ the future. All of this builds up to the real reason we have been summoned to the Great Hall. Why we are imprisoned.

We are the punishment. Punishment for the "Other Side." Entertainment for the Dark Lord and his followers. Twenty kids had entered what they called the "arena," a mountainous place with steep valleys, dark caves, and sharp jutting cliffs. Forced to fight- and to die- until there was only one.

And we watched that first year of the Phoenix Games.


	2. Hermione 1

**Chapter One: Hermione**

It was like clockwork. We'd all file into our room and she'd be the last one up, dragging in the rear. While the rest of us chatted and dressed, she would already be in her private bedroom, in bed with the curtains drawn and blankets pulled over her head. She was the only one among us—the only girl anyway, in any of the houses—with her own room, a large bed, fluffy pillows, and thick blankets. The only one who could eat and say that she was full every night. The only one with any luxury.

Slowly the rest of us would calm down and fall silent. Someone would finally blow out the last candles and engulf us in darkness. Then the only light would be whatever the moon and stars could provide from the windows. I'd lose consciousness. It always seems like I just closed my eyes...

Romilda Vane starts to scream.

It's a lengthy, high-pitched, tortuous sound, one that takes at least three of us to silence by waking the girl. Romilda Vane will stare around the room, disoriented, ready to attack, a a snarl on her lips. It's the saddest and scariest thing I've ever witnessed. All of us girls would pretend like we don't know what's wrong, like she's always been this way, like it's natural. In the daylight hours, the fifth-years crowd her like before it happened. The boys flirt like she's a delicate, simple thing. It's a play and every Hogwarts student knows their part.

Romilda Vane is the victor of the first Phoenix Games. She won, and the rest of us watched her kill.

I only personally knew two of the people from that year's games. A Gryffindor, Cormac McLaggen, and a second-year Ravenclaw I used to tutor, Stewart Ackerly. Neither of them killed the other; Stewart died in the chaos that was the Cornucopia and McLaggen was taken out by a particularly vicious Slytherin. It was almost miraculous that Romilda won actually, since among the final two participants was the same Slytherin who killed McLaggen, Cassia Thurgood. Entering the arena, everyone's wands were confiscated, but when the number dropped to the final six, they had been returned and used without abandon. McLaggen had been discarded very simply: _Avada Kedavra._ Romilda on the other hand warranted a greater sense of bloodlust. _Crucio. Sectusempra._ A Bat-Bogey to make Ginny Weasley's look like child's play. Romilda Vane had been a puddle of flesh and blood by the time Cassia Thurgood was half-way through. Thurgood had stopped to admire her work. We all speculated that Romilda was done for. But the girl was cleverer than we gave her credit for. Clever, or extremely desperate. Ropes shot from Romilda's wand tip and strangled the Slytherin.

It was a few weeks before we saw the girl again, healed from the damage Thurgood and the others had inflicted on her. I couldn't decide whether to congratulate her or offer a shoulder to cry on. But the two of us had never been friends. When Romilda Vane returned to Hogwarts, she behaved as if the Phoenix Games had never happened. It was an unspoken rule for the rest of us to follow suit.

Last year, two year mates of mine, Dean Thomas and Dakota Sutherland, were the only Gryffindors I knew personally, as well as the Ravenclaw Cho Chang and a Hufflepuff, another kid I used to tutor, Adam Higgins. Cho got close, but she died in the end. Thurgood's younger brother, Carson, won. I hope that the Slytherin can handle his nightmares better than Romilda Vane does.

Something lands on my feet. I groan lightly, turning over. I was hoping to beat out Romilda's screams tonight. Instead I know that I am going to stay awake for half the night.

"Hermione get up!"

"God Ginny, I'm awake. What do you want?"

"You won't believe it!"

"What?" I don't think I'm in the mood for Ginny's games right now.

"Guess!" I groan again. Ginny Weasley has two functions: painfully girlish and heartbreakingly depressed. Normally, the former was an excuse to cover the latter. It used to be that I'd ask my best friend what was wrong. She would tell me and we would find a solution together. That was back when there were simple solutions and simple problems. Within the last two years there have been things that neither one of us wants to talk about. So rather than pry, I play along.

"Okay… you got an 'O' on your last—"

"No, Hermione! Does it always have to be grades with you?"

"No. Can it ever be about grades with you?"

"No." We laugh. "Okay, two more."

"You got that spell learned?"

"The mimicry one? No, not yet. Last chance," Ginny sings her last statement as if she were teasing me.

"Okay, okay, how about… oh! Ron actually apologized for—"

"Do you listen to yourself?" Ginny propels herself into the space beside me, spreads her blanket on top of mine, and gets comfortable beside me.

"Never."

"I mean, my brother, _Ron_, apologizing?"

"Where was my head?"

"But no… Harry sort of… kissed me."

"Come again?"

"I know!" Ginny pulls herself up to rest on an elbow. "I mean… I never gave up on him but… I hardly expected it. Hermione. He _kissed_ me! Full on the mouth."

"And are you two… together?"

"…. I don't know. But, Hermione!"

"Yes, Ginny, I know, he kissed you. Have you dated then? Going out?"

"We've sort of… been meeting. After hours and before you say anything, Hermione! We're only in the Gryffindor commons, talking. One time we did take a walk outside, but we made sure not to get caught, _do not say anything!_" I close my mouth. I would rather not fight with Ginny tonight, especially when she's so excited. I just wish that she and Harry wouldn't flaunt the rules like they do. "We just do little things, you know, like you and Victor Krum used to do. There's no room for much else." I can feel the heat in my cheeks when she mentions my old not-quite-boyfriend. Really I don't know _what_ we were.

"Well, I'm happy for you Gin. Now while I'd like to keep up this little chat, you're talking about Harry. It's about as fun for me as it would be for you if I were talking about snogging Ron."

"Ugh, you had to say that, didn't you? That's disgusting!"

"Sorry,"

"The mental scarring!"

"I said I'm sorry!"

"But you're not."

"Hmm. You might be correct." Before I know it, my pillow has been snatched and my head falls to the floor with a soft but solid _tmp._ Ginny smacks me in the face with the missing object. I giggle. "Okay, I deserved that, didn't I?" Hair flies as Ginny nods fervently. She lies back down next to me and I assume she is planning to sleep with me tonight.

"Do you think that they're going to do it again? Send someone into that arena?" Her voice takes on that little girl quality that tells me that she's worried. Not necessarily about herself, but for someone else. Not a night goes by that I do not think about the Phoenix Games, not with Romilda's screaming. Not without noticing who's missing from the previous year and remembering why they aren't here. Every night I go to sleep wondering if I am going to wake up with sixteen more of my classmates missing. Nothing Headmaster Carrows tells us indicates either way. I readjust myself on the pillow so that we both have room and wrap an arm around her. Whether for my benefit or hers I'm not sure.

"I don't know." I say honestly. "I hope not. But look at us. We still don't know about our families."

"Professor Owens will help you, if you want him to. He's not like the others."

"You trust him?"

Ginny nods. "Mostly. You do have to pay though. The Patil twins have been using him to keep contact with their parents. They're still alive, but Mrs. Patil is missing her right arm. Mr. Patil's sister was killed." She let that sit between us before continuing. "Mum and Bill and Charlie are fine, by the way. It's all Professor Owens has been able to find out."

"Ginny, you paid him?"

"Yes! I couldn't take it Hermione, even if I would have been punished, the idea that they could have been safe…. I needed to find out."

I'm on the verge of hissing so I say nothing for a moment, calming down. "Ginny be more careful, you have to, please. You can't trust him. None of them. Please promise me you won't be so reckless again." In the dim light I could see the stubborn set to her eyebrows and mouth. "Ginny please," I press.

"Fine." I stare at her, hard. She knows what I want. "I promise that I won't be reckless. By your standards."

"Good. If Professor Owens is here, then he is for a reason Ginny. I wouldn't trust him."

"I know... That's why I paid him for you."

"Ginny!" My voice shoots through several octaves and the girls nearest us cast dark or curious glances our way. "Ginny, why would you _do_ that?"

"Because I knew that you wouldn't that's why."

It's true, I wouldn't have. It's safer to speculate and worry. The idea of even _attempting_ to get that information scares me. I don't know if I'm more afraid of the possible punishment or of the possible answer. Out of the four of us, Ginny, Harry, Ron, and myself, I am the rational one, the cautious one, the here's-a-plan-so-that-we-don't-get-into-trouble one. The safe one. Naturally Ginny's nerve freaks me the world out. It's silent between us again.

"Thank you." I don't say it until after the candles have been blown out. I don't expect an answer.

"You're welcome." I smile in the dark, smooth my best friend's hair, grasp her hand in mine. Ginny Weasley has always been something like the little sister I never had (and sometimes did not want), but that bond had not grown to its current strength until recently.

"Shh, you're supposed to be asleep!" We giggle, and in turn receive several sharp words from our fellow roommates. Before we fall silent for the last time, Ginny kisses my cheek, a near inaudible good night following. Mumbling a similar wish, I finally give into sleep….

Until Romilda Vane's cries break through. Not even several walls can prevent her screams from disturbing the rest of our sleep. Grudgingly I get up from my bed—if I can even call it that. A thin mattress on the floor with a single, very hard, flat pillow—and stomp down the hall. Two other girls are already there, making feeble attempts at shaking the terrorized girl awake. I tell them to stand back, seize Romilda's wand and use a very simple wand movement.

"_Aguamenti."_ Water fountains from the tip, catching Romilda Vane full in the face. She startles awake, sputtering and shouting, only now she's conscious of it. I give the other girls a very sleepy and very dirty look that should say clearly, _that's how you do it,_ and return to my bed. It's not easy falling asleep after that. I settle in next to Ginny, Romilda's screams still ringing in my ears.

"Your turn to promise me something," Ginny's sleep-filled voice interrupts.

"What's that?"

"Promise me that you won't go in the arena. You'll stay with me?"

"I have no control over that, Gin."

"Please?" the little girl voice. I can't deny the little girl voice anything. It reminds me of how vulnerable she really is. Ginny puts up a good front but really she's more sensitive than I am.

"I promise. Now sleep." And she does. Sometime after the noise down the hall stops and the girls return to their beds I manage to sleep too.

I'm at the very edge of consciousness when something begins to feel… off. Not-right. Wrong. But I want to sleep so I just ignore whatever it is at the edge of my senses. I find Ginny's hand again, reassuring myself and calming down. Suddenly Ginny is jerking away from me. My grip on her hand slips then tightens as I try to prevent her from leaving me. I jump awake. I can't see any faces but two forms are standing over us, one holding a girl's limp body. She wears Lavender Brown's night gown. The other is pulling Ginny away, is my opponent in this tug-of-war. Somewhere in the back of my mind under the fog of sleep, I know that it's starting again: another Phoenix Games.

"No, no, no." Half-asleep and only slightly aware of what I might be doing, I start pulling Ginny back towards myself, crying and moaning all the while. I don't know what I'm saying but at one point I must say something that they like because their grip on Ginny slackens and I pull my best friend and sister into my lap, rocking and crying, patting her hair, making sure she is alive. Somehow Ginny stayed asleep through the whole ordeal.

"Are you sure?"

I nod, not sure what I am agreeing to. Then the form is holding my arm, a large needle aimed for the vein in the fold of my elbow. I snatch away. She comes closer. "You or the girl." Without waiting for my consent the cloaked form is grasping my arm firmly. They have injected the needle, pushed whatever substance into my bloodstream. I know without a doubt now what I have just agreed to. I broke my promise. But while I fall victim to the injection (some sort of potion I'd wager to put me to sleep) I briefly wonder which would have been worse? Breaking my promise to Ginny or knowing that I could have saved her from dying in the arena?


	3. Blaise 1

**Chapter Two: Blaise**

Sleeping in the dungeons, it would be expected that I'd have gotten used to waking up freezing cold, especially since said dungeon is partially submerged beneath the Black Lake. Don't get me wrong, I am used to it, just... something feels off this morning. I convulse in a fit of shivers just as I do nearly every morning, my body struggling to reawaken and warm numb nerves. The chill is bone-deep today. I pull my knees up to my chest in an effort to centre my body heat, and reach for my blanket. It's not much of anything, closer to a sheet than a duvet, but it is a line of defence between me and the cold.

Only one problem: my blanket is not there. I grope blindly for it, my fingers finding no fabric, but plenty of slate floor. My pillow is even missing. I don't find this situation too strange, it is Slytherin after all. Where other the houses might share and compromise, we Slytherins have no scruples stealing what we want. At least the guys do. I'm sure the girls are more comfortable sharing and doubling their blankets with one another than us guys are. Females sleeping together are like, the picture of sexy innocence. Men sleeping together screams GAY. Chances were, either Malfoy or Nott stole my things from me and thought it was funny. Either way my efforts to sleep any longer were done. I sit up. Doing so causes my head to spin and a knot in my neck to pull. I wait for the dizziness to pass before opening my eyes.

At least I think my eyes are open. Everything around me is pitch-black. I lift my hands to my face to press on my eyes, just to make sure that they're working- I never know around here- and am rewarded with bright spots of colour dancing in my vision. My eyes are working, the lights just aren't. My next decision, to find my wand and cast a Light Charm, also proves fruitless. By this time I have passed submissively amused into plain pissed.

"Malfoy, Nott," I growl aggressively. "You assholes need to give me my shit back."

"Please. I'd give it back if I had it." Malfoy's drawl fills the darkness a silent moment later.

"Where's Nott then?" I stand and begin pacing the room, feeling for a form to kick awake. It is a lot of kicking later that my foot finally collides with a body, only a hand seizes my leg before I can retract it.

"Zabini. You and I are the only ones here. So if you kick me again and I decide to kill you with my bare hands, no one will stop me." His tone is low and muted. A person who knew Draco Malfoy less than I did might believe that he really meant his threat, and on some level he might have. But I do know him well. He isn't so much pissed with me as he is pissed with this situation. Malfoys do not like to be controlled; they like to be _in_ control. If they are not in control, or are not in the know, they are lost. Draco Malfoy right now, is lost. I lower myself to sit beside him.

"You know something." I wasn't asking him, but he answers anyway.

"Yeah."

"You don't like it."

Malfoy snorts. "You won't either."

There is actually a hint of amusement in his voice. I consider that. I don't like things the way they are now anyway. We are the Dark Lord's prisoners at _Hogwarts_ for crying out loud. The homiest place on earth transformed into Azkaban. I don't know if my mother is alive. My girlfriend was killed in last year's Phoenix Games and I am not entirely certain that I will graduate from this place _alive-_

"Bloody hell."

"In a sense." That amusement still taints Malfoy's voice. I am not sure if it is because he really finds the unintentional pun funny or because he is just seconds from cracking like an egg.

"We are two of the contestants for the Games."

"You're intelligent." Reflexively I reach out and punch Malfoy in the side, completely forgetting his earlier threat. It's a full-on physical brawl before I know what's happened. Malfoy and I are pretty evenly matched fortunately, but his days on the Quidditch pitch has left him with more endurance than me. I take several kicks to the stomach before he has enough and we are both still.

"You feel better now?" I groan.

"Loads," he pants.

"Good. Next time I'll be the one kicking your arse."

Malfoy scoffs.

"No, seriously. I let you win."

He laughs this time. "You wish." A moment later he sighs. "Merlin, we're going to die."

"If you think that then yeah, we will," I retort.

"Since when did you become an optimist?"

"Since when did a Malfoy give up?"

Malfoy scoffs at me again. "Since my father."

"Huh?"

"I didn't tell you, did I?"

I remain silent, not sure if I should answer; Malfoy's tone is that strange halfway-mental one I have learned to take with caution. Malfoy might be on the verge of either revealing a secret or kicking my ass again. "My father quit his life. Took a poison and ended it on purpose."

It's rare to think of a wizard committing suicide. My mother claimed that her third second husband- my father- had hung himself when I was three, but I know better. She poisoned her other four husbands, why wouldn't she have poisoned him? I heard that it was a miserable sort of death, poisoning, so I don't understand why Lucius Malfoy would have put himself through that voluntarily.

"I'm sorry man," I say out of lack of words. "But you know, you did always say that you didn't think your father was as 'Malfoy' as he claimed to be. Your grandfather Tidus liked you better. He wanted you to be the head of the family."

"Sure. I would have done the same things Father did."

I shake my head, forgetting Malfoy can't see. "You are not your father," I tell him firmly. "We both know that." This is an argument we have all the time, whether or not Draco is more like Lucius or Tidus. I don't think he is like either man, but he will not listen to that point; Malfoys are too damn stubborn.

Before either of us can say any more, light floods the chamber, and a dark, shadowy shape stands in the door way. The light, for all that it is fairly dull, stings my eyes and I have to blink while I sit up to keep the dizziness at bay.

"You two have been busy," I wish I didn't know that voice, but I do. The Carrow sister. I can't see her face, but I just know that smile is in place, that full-toothed, wide-eyed tribute to insanity that was her grin. It preceded most punishments in the castle, so I'm not surprised that it will precede this one. Her shadowy form comes closer and she pulls me from my place on the floor only to throw me back down in the light. She lifts Malfoy in a similar manner, only he keeps his balance enough to remain upright. He helps me back up where I stay this time.

Shutting the door, Carrow continues, "Too bad we don't want any of that until the arena." So quickly I don't see it, Carrow has her wand out and pointed while Malfoy writhes on the floor grimacing. He groans in agony once before it's done and her wand is trained on me. I flinch reflexively. She laughs and a coolness numbs my face and ribs, then warms them. It doesn't hurt, not painfully at least.

"There, all better," she tells me. There is a new tone in her voice, one of... something. Almost like Madame Pomfrey when she had healed someone to her satisfaction and was dismissing them finally. Dear Hecate, I miss that woman, and all of her fussiness. I am not certain that our new healer even sat her N.E.W.T.s.

Without another word, Carrow turns on her heel and stalks down the corridor. I help Malfoy to his feet and we hurry to catch up. She does not speak to us and that is fine by me. I probably would never admit to it, but she scares me. I am not entirely convinced that she did heal me, but maybe put me in so much pain that my brain is preventing me from processing it. We are led into a large open room with a high ceilings and a set of double doors on each wall, one of which Carrow had just brought us through. Along the walls, large areas are blocked off, a haggard-looking adult sitting at the tables enclosed in each section. In the centre of the room stands a group of kids, most of them my and Malfoy's age, some of them younger. The rest of our competition, I suppose, when I look at the faces: Bulstrode, the Wayne twins, Lovegood, Stevenson, Finch-Fletchley, Brown, Creevey, and Granger. The others are either too young for me to pay attention to, or too anonymous to stand out in my memory. At Carrow' indication, Malfoy and I move to join our classmates while she disappears behind the opposite door.

"I'm surprised they picked you Granger, instead of Potter," sneers Malfoy not two seconds later.

Granger doesn't miss a beat, "I'm surprised that your father approved of you being a sacrifice, Malfoy." It's a low blow, but since the fate of Lucius Malfoy is not exactly common knowledge amongst the students, it's an understandable retort. Malfoy does not reply.

Aside from a muted conversation between the Wayne twins, we are all silent until Carrow returns with a group of four. They do not look like Hogwarts students and they do not support any of the House is a surly look on one of the guys' faces, the tall, darker one, and the girl with him does not look any more pleasant. They wear brown joggers and hooded jumpers, his unzipped to reveal the black t-shirt underneath. The other pair looks outright petrified, and wear sweatpants of a pale lavender colour.

One of the twins, the only ones apparently unaffected by any of this, calls out to Carrow, "Who are they?"

Carrow smiles that twisted grin again. "Oh, they're just something new this year. You have some friends from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. You didn't think the Dark Lord would restrain himself to just one side of the continent, did you?"

I look back to the group Carrow has just brought in. Thinking about it, the expressions on the frightened pair do match that of the Delacour girl just before every Tri-Wizard Tournament Task, and none of the Durmstrang lot had ever appeared particularly friendly.

"So there aren't any Muggles this year? Do we get our wands from the beginning then?"

"No, hun, we're keeping the Muggles. Only the Final Six will have their wands returned to them."

"Then what are we doing here?" A thin airy voice poses the question. The only person in the entire school who speaks like that is Loony Lovegood. "Are you going to send us into the arena now?" Loony does not speak with any aggression, strangely enough (then again, it is perhaps normally for her), only pure curiosity.

"Now where would be the fun in that?" the voice of the Headmaster, Carrow's twin brother, answers the question. He comes in through one of the side doors, the right one from where his sister had brought in the foreigners. Behind him trail four more kids wearing white joggers and t-shirts. All of us Hogwarts kids are still wearing our standard-issued pyjamas, sorted, of course, by House colours. "You lot have to train first. Otherwise you'd fumble about and kill yourselves before anyone else had the chance." It's his turn to grin at us, condescendingly this time. Then his sister cuts in.

"You will spend the next ten days here in this facility, training. You will learn weapons, healing, and various survivor skills. Then when you go into the arena, you will make the third Phoenix Games an even greater entertainment than its predecessors." She grins again and I wonder if she has any other settings than "_disturbingly and frighteningly insane" _or "_sadistic."_

"Yes, my dear, you are very correct." I like to forget the fact that the Carrow siblings seem to behave incestuously. He caresses her arm more intimately than any brother legally or ethically should.

"Right. So you lot need to get dressed," she nods to us, "and we will begin your training."


	4. Ginny 1

**Chapter Three: Ginny**

Ginny Weasley is going to go mad, she can swear it. Ever since she awoke that morning, she has been going out of her mind with fear and worry, which is just the tip of the iceberg. She can't keep her focus and her schoolwork is shoddy. Everyone at Hogwarts knows what an overactive imagination Ginny has, so they've been avoiding her, which seems make her imagination worse because now she can't talk to anyone, and there is no one to reassure her that things can't possibly be as bad as she thinks they are, which makes Ginny worry more. The worst part, however, is that Hermione _promised_ not to leave Ginny alone. She promised me that she was not going to go into the Phoenix Games' arena, promised that she was going to _stay._ Now Hermione will play the Games with no skills, while everyone else knows how to use all sorts of weapons, and Ginny just knows that she will get killed horrifically by a Slytherin who likes to take their time and play around by making little cuts and letting their victim run away from them several times before finally finishing Hermione off by stabbing her in the throat.

See, there was that _overactive imagination_ again.

Yet Ginny was sure that Hermione would be intelligent enough to avoid the other contestants until the Final Six. Then she'll probably get taken out by a Killing Curse, but only after several rounds of the Cruciatus or something worse, because Hermione just does not have the instincts that would alert her to the presence of others like Ginny does. Or Harry. Hermione is rather clumsy, really. Not, of course, as much as Tonks- she was a right menace to herself- but honestly, who gives themselves a black eye on accident? It had happened because of one of Fred and George's invention prototypes, sure, but that should have given her warning enough. Ginny does not know how Hermione will survive without her.

Ginny would feel better if she were the one going into the arena, not Hermione.

- x -

The school has been noticeably silent in the last two days. It happened the last couple of times students were removed from their beds. It's as if everyone had been hit with a Stunning Spell or a Silencing Charm. The teachers seem to hold a particular joy in it all. Ginny thinks it would be scarier if they pretended things were normal.

Thankfully Harry isn't avoiding her. If anything, he is more concerned than Ginny is, albeit less paranoid. Every time Ginny shares one of her Hermione-tortured-slowly-by-a-Slytherin rants, Harry holds her for a long moment.

"We won't just let this happen, Ginny," he tells her softly one night. They sit in the Gryffindor common room after hours in front of a dying fire, talking in hushed tones. "They won't do this again next year. I promise-"

"Please, don't," Ginny interrupts him, pulling away so that she can look in his eyes. "Don't make promises if you don't know that you can keep them."

"You didn't let me finish. I promise that _if I'm still alive,_ they will not do this again. The Phoenix Games will not exist. They can't keep doing this."

Ginny speaks slowly in an attempt to calm herself down. She doesn't want to get her hopes up for no reason."Harry, what do you mean?"

"I mean, that I am going to stop them." Ginny shakes her head, not believing what he is telling her. Stop the Phoenix Games, she wondered. The adults couldn't even defeat You-Know-Who, how was _Harry_ going to stop the Games?

"No, Harry, you can't, I mean... How do you plan on doing that?" she asks, both scared and intrigued. Images of how disastrous it could turn out start playing in Ginny's head, but she manages to push them aside and focus on Harry. He's shaking his head in that infuriating way that tells Ginny that he is going to try to "protect" her "for her own good."

"Not yet, Ginny, I'm still figuring things out. I don't want you involved yet. If I get into trouble for it I'm going down by myself."

"But Harry-"

"No, Ginny, not yet. You and I are the only ones with enough courage right now to change things. I'm not willing to risk both of us in trouble just so I can get help." They watch one another for a minute, he unwavering and she attempting to dissuade him. It's two of Harry's most endearing and frustrating qualities: his heroism and stubbornness. Ginny admires him for his ability to repeatedly sacrifice himself in place of others, but she also feels like he thinks he deserves to die in doing so, since so many have died to save him.

Sighing, Ginny turns away, looking into the glowing embers. She understands what Harry means. She would not want him to get a punishment if they get caught, or something worse. However, "Harry, _when_ are you going to realise that I am a big girl and take care of myself just fine?" Ginny knows that sometimes she comes across as childish. She doesn't mean to, but she does not know how to be a different "Ginny Weasley" and she does not want to. Hermione had - _has -_ a theory that after the whole Tom Riddle thing Ginny started to cling harder to her innocense, but in reality, she could care less about that. What Ginny did know was that she if there is a way to end this reign of Darkness, then Fine. But you have to make me one more promise." Harry frowns at her, already not liking this deal.

"Depends on what it is," he says suspiciously.

"You're a smart man," says Ginny after a moment. With a sly grin, she turns back to face him. "So find a way to get your plans to me if something happens to you."

"Ginny..."

"Don't you 'Ginny' me like that. You said it yourself, we're the only ones. So write your notes so that we're the only ones who'll understand them- if you keep notes- and get them to me if you become compromised."

"Ginny, are you sure?"

Ginny holds his gaze with a fierceness she has never felt before, and says with no hesitation, "Harry, I've never been more sure about anything in my life."


	5. Draco 1

**Chapter Four: Draco**

I could not decide if this whole "training" concept was the stupidest or the smartest thing they could think of- so I decided on both. Dumb because it seems to me like a waste of time to teach us skills when we're just going to be killed anyway; smart because at least some of us are getting a better shot at life.

Like me. All I really know how to do is wield a wand. Grandfather had begun teaching me some sword skills before he died, saying that it was part of the "pureblood legacy" that all pureblood sons and some daughters learn how to use one, and that it was "the oldest of traditions". Grandfather had also told me that my father had been no good at it, so I guess that's why my lessons ceased when he passed on. I've mostly been using this time to brush up. Zabini has been pushing me to do otherwise.

"It's not the smartest idea, is all." he tells me after our third day of training. He and I are assigned suites- yes, _suites;_ two bedrooms and a lounge all filled with soft pillows and comfortable cushions and a warmth we haven't known since the days when Albus Dumbledore ruled the castle- together. It's like they're trying to bribe us, or make us feel appreciated or something. They want us to enjoy our last days alive by giving us these lush accommodations: thick mattresses on actual beds, real, comfortable clothes, and stuffing us full every night. I'm not complaining. When I'm given a bribe, I appreciate it to the fullest and enjoy myself.

"Do tell me, Zabini," I argue passively, "Why the bloody hell not? The point is to practice skills that will help us win." I am attempting to take a shower before dinner, but he wants to do this instead.

"But you also have everyone else checking you out as well," he explains. I will- reluctantly- admit that he's right. It makes sense. I just won't let Zabini know it. "The Wayne twins are already strategizing. They're always bent over together and one of them is always watching everyone else."

"So are you watching them now?"

"Of course," Zabini tells me without hesitation. "I need what information I can get if I'm going to win. I want to be smart about this, Malfoy." I regard Blaise Zabini for a moment. He seems pretty even-headed, thinking ahead and all, but I know him. He's scared shitless. He's acting like he is so tough, but it's clear from the way he's tapping his fingers across his thigh that he is as terrified as the rest of us. I mean, Merlin. In the next week we are going to be fighting for our _lives_ against twenty-two other kids. Right now the Wayne twins, two _fourteen-year-old girls_, are plotting against their _classmates_. Zabini is plotting against his classmates. The bloke is terrified, but I can see in his eyes at this second that he is serious as hell about whatever plan he's been concocting.

"What would you have me do then?" I ask cockily. "Practice my cooking skills?" I don't like where this discussion is going, and would rather be in the shower than having it. I figure that aloofness will get me out of it sooner than truly considering his words.

"Can you?" he shoots back in all seriousness. "Cook, I mean. Can you do that?"

"Hell no, that's what house-elves are for."

"Then how do you plan to survive in the arena?" Zabini questions me. I open my mouth to reply, but he pushes on, "They won't be sending house-elves in there with us, Malfoy. We will all be on our own- food, shelter, and defence. Remember the first games? Nearly all of them depended on the food the Dark Ones put in there, and they killed one another for it, because they didn't know how to cook. Last year, half of the kids died of starvation because they gave them no prepared food. You might be good with that blade, Malfoy, but it won't mean a damn thing if you don't survive to wield it."

The look Zabini pins me with is one so intense that I have to look away from it. Zabini has always been the only person to put up with me, aside from Nott. He's the one who stands up to me when I'm an ass, calms me when I'm furious, and if all else fails, sticks on my side through to the end. Even so, I've never heard him talk like this before. He's told me how stupid I can be, but Blaise Zabini has never scolded me like this. Never. I can't stand the fear inside my chest and I don't understand it either. His eyes hold an impenetrable hardness and a steeliness that even I can recognise as an unmoving resolve. Zabini already has a plan.

I always knew he was smarter than he lets on.

Then something he said finally hits me, strikes right dead centre in my forehead between my eyes. _We will all be on our own. _I wonder if that means that, once we walk into the arena, the pair of us will no longer be mates. I glance back to meet Zabini's eyes and know that it's true. He may be helping to extend my life, but he won't hesitate to end it if given the chance. I am no longer sure if I can trust him anymore. Still. It's sound advice he's given me.

"Alright then, mate," I tell him with a curt nod. Then I leave straight for the shower.

If Zabini already has a plan of attack- or defence- then there is no telling who else does as well. Susan Bones? Millicent Bulstrode? Bloody Loony Lovegood? No doubt Bookworm Granger has things figured out already. She's been the brainy half of Potter's little gang since first year, so I wouldn't be surprised. Then there are the Wayne twins, Desiree and Delilah. Manipulative little monsters, the pair of them, and the only ones I had truly been worried about. The Wayne twins seem to thrive on this sort of chaos.

So the question now is, if everyone has a plan, what will be mine? I consider it as I stand beneath the hot water. Normally the time I spend here is spent remembering the old days when I got a fresh twenty-minute shower everyday and not just a lukewarm six minutes every other night; when I was pampered and didn't want for a damn thing. I took that life for granted. Now, my life is shit- if I can even call it that. I'm sure prisoners in Azkaban are treated better than us prisoners of Hogwarts.

When I cross the lounge back to my bedroom, Zabini is nowhere in sight.

- x -

For the next three days, Zabini and I don't talk. Not that I see much of him in the first place. I can't be sure if it's him avoiding me however, or me avoiding him. Either way, I've started to take his advice. The day after our confrontation, I abandon the swords master for the lady with the cooking station where I take the time to learn the very basics of feeding myself. I did not know that even if something's totally black on the outside, it can still be raw and uncooked on the inside. I learned how to skin and clean a rabbit which, the lady pointed out, should suffice enough for me to do the same with any larger game, not that it was likely I'd find any.

That took me from breakfast (which I just barely managed to hold on to) to lunch, basically the entirety of the first training session of the day. Eating a warm bowl of noodles in broth (since I was not sure I wouldn't lose anything else), I realised that now I knew how to cook, but not how to build a fire.

So I spent the afternoon with someone who called himself a former "boy scout." He taught me to build a fire and contain it, as well as a few other little useful tips such as recognising edible plants. I hardly paid enough attention in Herbology to really be any good with it in the first place, so the refresher really helped. The bloke even slipped me a set of note cards which I hid in the waistband of my sweat pants at the small of my back until the end of the training day. He too, took up the rest of my afternoon.

After my mandatory shower full of more planning for self-preservation, I remained in my room, mentally reviewing what the cooking lady taught me, and looking through the boy scout's flashcards.

On the second day, I returned to the boy scout, desperate to memorize those plants. In the afternoon, I decided to join the small number that took to the second floor catwalk lining the walls and test my endurance. It's been so many years since I played on the school Quidditch team - since there has even _been _a school Quidditch team. I'll admit that I'm not as fit as I used to be.

From up there I can watch my fellow "competitors" - (because really, we all know that the proper word is _sacrifice_) - without seeming to. There's Loony Lovegood, decorating herself with mud and flowers in what I suppose is should be some sort of camouflage. There is the first-year knotting rope and from the look on that mentor's face, they're good. I haven't seen the Durmstrang pair wield a weapon yet, but judging from the ease at which they both complete a series of push-, sit-, and pull-ups, I suppose that they're both pretty strong. The Wayne twins are insane as they fight against one another hand-to-hand. Lavender Brown's blonde head catches my attention as she struggles to pull the string of a basic wooden bow.

I also realise exactly how correct Zabini was when he told me not to spend all my time in one place. There were as many wandering eyes here as an insect. Millicent Bulstrode didn't even pretend to be interested in anything, but stood against a wall and just _studied _everyone. Same with that Muggle-born, Finch-Fletchley only he knelt against the low railings up on the catwalk as he did so.

The plan hit me sometime in the middle of that night. Unfortunately, Zabini sleeps like a vampire in the daytime, and gets up earlier than I do, so I have to wait until after dinner to talk to him.

So I go through the third day, spending my morning at the strength training station (where I swear I pulled muscle or something, being an ass competing with sixth-year Ravenclaw James Dirkwell) and the afternoon, once again, jogging along the catwalk. I had been right behind Zabini as well, until he realised it and left for one of the weapons stations.

Bloody hell, he really is plotting to kill me!

Still, I jog the circuit, returning my eyes to the floor below me. I notice Granger, her springy curls pulled back into a ponytail, tamed for once. Something about her demeanour makes it obvious that she is nervous, worried about something in the Games, probably. Hmph. I watch as she walks around the room slowly, and when I get into a position so I can see the front of her, I notice that Granger is fidgeting with her hands. Recalling what I've seen of her, I know that she has some pretty decent endurance, but little to no strength. She's clumsy, but I'm assuming knows how to survive in the woods for all that I haven't seen her near the cook or the boy scout. She's a bit of an easy target unless she makes it - by some brilliant celestial design - to the Final Six. Then, she's right scary.

Plus her right hook is something wicked.

"She'd never go for it," I mutter to myself.

- x -

I corner Zabini after the afternoon training session, before dinner.

"I need to talk to you," I start, coming in through his bedroom door unannounced. Zabini jumps as if I had just hit him with a Reductor Curse. This is normally my shower time, so I'm assuming that I caught him off-guard for once this week. I continue without giving him time to recover. "What you said to me, the other day, made perfect sense, Z. Too much bloody damn sense, if you ask me. Don't let that go to your head, mate, because this will likely be the only time you ever hear me say those words. _I'm_ supposed to be the conniving one, not you, but that's beside the point." I'm rambling, I know, but it's one of those moments where things make good sense in my head, but refuse to come out properly in words.

"Malfoy-"

"No, just wait." I insist. I'm pacing now, getting my ideas together. I should have spent at least some of my time today thinking about how to get my plan out in the open. Right now I'm appearing half-baked and nervous, and if anything that will ruin my credibility. He's already written me off, even has plans to kill me, so why should Zabini even bother with me? Well, aside from the fact that I've invaded his bedroom, anyway. "Alright. What you said - were you really serious about killing me?" That is _not_ what has me riled up, but it's the first step, I realise. If I know where Zabini stands with me, I will know how best to present my plan. I stop pacing and look at his face, since he's avoiding my eyes.

"I... yeah. I don't want to, but Malfoy, if it comes down to a me-or-you situation, I'll do it." I nod in accordance.

"Same, but, what if we had a way to make sure one of us won?" I ask uncertainly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like the Wayne twins. They're covering one another through the contest,"- Zabini snorts at my choice of words- "so why can't we? At least to the Final Six, then we can just... I dunno. Hope we don't cross one another again." I think I have a pretty sound plan until I actually say it aloud. Now it just sounds silly. Zabini frowns however, as if in concentration.

Oh, sweet Merlin's mercy, he's really thinking about it.

"Who else have you included, Malfoy?"

"No one. I've been waiting to tell you all day."

"You have your strengths... You can wield a sword. You can fight. Strong, plus you were on the Quidditch team, so I know you're fast and you can last. There isn't much of a downside." Even though a part of me is stung that my best friend just analysed me as if he were picking a new racing broom, another part appreciated his _well-of-course-I'll-agree_ tone for what it was. We are a team. He just needed me to get serious.


	6. Hermione 2

_So, I'm a little bit late updating. Sorry. School has gotten crazy and I'm only sleeping a few hours during the day... Anyhoo. I'm writing new chapters, so updates might be a little slower after next week, but I am definitely planning to finish this story. I hope you lot enjoy ^_^_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Hermione**

I am going to be sick. I just know it.

They are testing us tonight, before dinner. All twenty-four of us are sitting in a small antechamber waiting to be called into the training hall. We were told to present some sort of "skill" to the judges and their witnessing audience. None of us know what to expect. I sure don't know what to do. Nearly everything I've tried during our training sessions this week has ended in some sort of failure. I have confidence that I can learn and become proficient enough in any of those areas, only, they aren't giving us weeks or months to learn, just a few hours in a few days.

I hardly know what my strengths are, the strengths that matter, before my name is called; the ninth in the succession. None of the others ever returned from their presentations. I wondered then if they were going to send us into the arena directly afterwards. I would have had a panic attack right then if I weren't still trying to pinpoint my strong points and decide what I was going to show the judges.

I can truthfully say that I have zero talents. I absorb information the first time I read it and memorize facts. I have good study habits and I want to do well in class. I can be the scariest thing with a wand in my hand, but I don't have a killer instinct like Harry or Ginny. The only motivation I have is not-dying, to live. However, if I have to kill others in order to achieve that goal, I am not so sure that I want to stick around. I don't want to become some sort of monster.

The long table held seven chairs. The judges were no one that I recognised. I saw no other spectators until I looked up onto the catwalk some of the others used for jogging during our practice sessions. I stand in front of the table at the centre and stare back at the judges staring at me.

"Well?" one of them prompts.

"Why do you need to see our talents?" I ask.

"Do you remember how some of the contestants from last year received help when they needed it?" one of them asks. I nod. "That's why. The more talented you are the more help you get." I nod, but my stomach still sits somewhere near my knees. _I have no talents._ But I was not going to tell them that. Instead I searched the room, hoping to find something that will inspire the slightest bit of talent, or at the very least, I could perform proficiently enough to earn outside interference. Knowing me, I will need at least four of those glittering pins. They offered shelter, food, medicine, nearly anything to further my chances of survival. I know that I have a fighting chance with my wand in my hand.

I didn't need to be a genius though to figure out that the judges did not want to support someone who only had talent with a wand though. My eyes find the bow and arrow. I'm clumsy with that thing, smacked myself with the bowstring on several occasions, and my arrows never fly anywhere. The sword was a little too heavy for my arms to wield properly although some of the guys, like Teras Morozov, one of the Muggles, and very unexpectedly, Draco Malfoy were beautiful with those things in their hands. My knots leave something to be desired, but they are passable. Somehow I don't believe that the judges will give me many points for being able to tie a noose or slip-knot. I should have spent more time at the camouflage station really, because that would have been a truly useful skill to have, and they might give me a decent number...

My eyes find the practice dummy for hand-to-hand combat. I almost move towards it. Mum and I had taken some self-defence classes back when I was thirteen after I told her about that fight I got into with Millicent Bulstrode in second-year. I remember the first time I really got to use those skills was when Malfoy decided that he was going to have a time bullying me and my friends. I was already upset with him for having Buckbeak executed, so that was just the icing on the cake. That punch felt so _good._ Mum and I had gone back every year until the war started and we students were put in safety. I've been afraid to even approach the dummy since I've got here. Everyone else just seems so much better than I am in almost everything. And I've never actually _fought_ anyone before, just punched one person and taken fake swipes at my sparring partner. My eyes linger for a moment more on the faceless mannequin, before I out rule the notion to try my hand at fighting. I only have one chance at this, and I don't want to mess it up by playing around with something that I haven't practiced in two years.

There was only one thing I really had going for me: my endurance. I couldn't run for twenty minutes however. Instead, I just talked.

"Well, I can cook on a campfire—my parents used to take me until a few years ago. I can recognise which plants are edible and which aren't and I recognise the poisonous ones. I think I read somewhere about the efficiency of some of them as well..." I trailed off as I tried to recall what book and the information within, before continuing listing plants and how to know which were which, even finding some flash cards left over from the wilderness experts' station to support my case.

"That will be all, Miss Granger," one of the judges cut me off mid-explanation.

I am still embarrassed over my presentation. I was dismissed to my suite then, shared with that obnoxious slag, Lavender Brown. I can swear she is as bubble-headed as they come. Thankfully she was shut in her own bedroom so I wouldn't have to chat about the judges and how well I did—or in my case, did not do. It was when I opened the door to my own room that I realised why she was not around to irritate me.

My room had been transformed into a beauty parlour. I close my eyes in that moment against the budding headache but say nothing. The banquet. The banquet that the kids at Hogwarts are going to watch during their own dinner. The banquet where I will receive my non-existent score from the presentation of my non-talents. I could have growled, but I bit my lip as I was waxed, trimmed, buffed, scented, and stuffed into a jade coloured gown with black strappy heels and what felt like too much makeup.

I keep mostly silent throughout dinner in spite of the number of times Lavender, Colin, and the French duo Marie-Océan and Tristan attempt to pull me into conversation. The scores. The scores. I can't stand thinking about them, but they stay on my mind, knotting my stomach, and my brain refused to find a new focus.

That is until Alecto Carrows, the sister, stands from the centre of the head table. My stomach flips with a sudden bout of nausea and I just know that I am going to be sick all over the table, in front of the other contestants, the judges, their guests, and the whole of Hogwarts. Colin Creevey, the sweetheart he is, puts an arm around my waist and asks if I am alright. Just that bit of comfort steadies me, that and the look in Lavender Brown's eyes that tells me I am not the only one feeling uneasy about her presentation.

Carrows goes in reverse order from how we went in.

Blaise Zabini gets a 9.

Desiree Wayne a 10, her sister Delilah as well.

The Russians, Teras Morozov and Raya Morozova, cousins, receive an 11 and 10 respectively.

Draco Malfoy: 10

Luna Lovegood: 5

Marie-Océan Lefevre: 7

I get a three. A god-forsaken _three._ At that moment I really was almost sick. I lose focus of everything else except for that desolate number: three.

_Surely_ I am going to die now. I only force myself to return to the present in time to catch Colin's eight and Lavender's four. I have received the lowest score, even the first-year scored higher than a pathetic _three._

I should cry. I want to cry. But I don't. I don't cry because I prefer to do so in my own bed away from pity-filled eyes and my eventual opponents. My victims or executioners.

In the morning I have a headache from crying myself to sleep and a heavy heart from the task in front of me.

I hate that this will all be broadcast to Hogwarts. It is bad enough that I have already been labelled a weakest link for receiving the lowest score, but for my friends to know as well... I have never felt so helpless, never, not even when, back in primary school, the kids used to tease me about my big teeth or bushy hair. I knew that I had something that I could lord over them, that one day they will come to me needing help. At Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and Ginny appreciated my intelligence and my ability to think quickly enough to get us out of most sticky situations. I have never had a need to be strong, or a desire to use weapons. The bit of fighting I do know how to do was nearly forced on me, and I haven't practiced in years. I remember the instructor used to tell me that I wasn't as good as he believed I could be. I just don't like violence.

Except for that one time with Malfoy.

Breakfast is lying out in the suite's commons. I take what I can to eat in my room: pancakes with honey, several slices of melon and grapes on a saucer, a glass of milk. Then I return for a large tea because it is the only thing that will soothe my nerves save for a calming draft.

It isn't long after I have finished my breakfast (surprisingly because I was positive that I was going to upend something) that I hear three sharp knocks at my door. Without my response, they push in.

"I have your outfit for the arena, Miss." She announces. It's the stylist from last night, Pippa. I thank her but she remains, gripping the package. I raise my brows to her. "I'm to help you dress and escort you to the Holding Chamber as well." Of course. I resist the urge to roll my eyes or snap that I am not a child who needs assistance with her clothes. Instead I hold out my hands for the package and wait until she removes the clothing from it's brown paper wrapping.

The shirt seems to me a regular tank top, black in colour. The pants are of a soft, stretchy material and the boots they have given me are calf-length with a flat bottom and thick sole, also black. I am also given underwear, a black sports bra and matching boy-short knickers. While I dress, Pippa stays and watches, turning and adjusting garments as I dress. The black fleece jacket remains on my bed, since I don't want to burn up in my bedroom waiting to be called to the arena. Pippa straps my knit belt on me herself, turning it so that the buckle is perfect centre.

"You have really pretty hair," She remarks after pushing me into a chair and starting to brush.

"Fair lot of good it will do me now," I retort.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she tells me. She pulls my mass of curls into a thick ponytail at the base of my neck and pulls two locks forward on either side of my face, twisting the curls so that they frame it prettily. She uses a scarlet ribbon to tie the rest back.

"Beauty does more than you would think, Miss Granger," Pippa tells me as she digs around in the pouch strapped around her waist. After a moment she retrieves three round, silver pins, no longer than the first knuckle of my pinkie finger. She attaches them to my belt, side by side, screwing the backs on the inside. "Each contestant receives one to start, and receives another for every three points they earn." I do the math.

"But I only earned three points," I remind her, flinching at the atrocity I preformed— not-performed —at my judges' presentation. "Where did the third come from?"

"Have you not been listening?" Pippa scolds me and then softens. "You were so concerned with your score that you failed to appreciate the work I did, didn't you?" The question was rhetoric, she continued on before I could open my mouth to respond. "You are stunning when you so choose to be, Miss Granger, and you were pretty damn attractive last night. The third pin is because of that." Pippa let that bit sink in for a moment. I've known that I was at least pretty since the Yule Ball when I received all that attention. I thought that "beautiful" might have been too much since most of it was because I had straightened my hair and wore that gown and had Parvati and Ginny help me with my makeup. Not only that, but I had been on the arm of Viktor Krum, so it was almost like a sort of Cinderella story. Most of the time I was just a Plain Jane, unworthy of any attention at all. I want to argue that I really am not very attractive at all, that the judges only said so because of that gown and the makeup, but Pippa starts in again.

"Now, when you need help, all you have to do is rub one of those pins—only one—and speak the words, _'__I Hermione Granger, seek assistance from my sponsors.__'_ One of your sponsors should send you something to help then, but it is to their discretion what, understand? Mind, You only use those when they are truly needed, okay girlie?" I nod. I should be able to accomplish that much, especially since I'm sure to die before I will need them.

"It's another hour before Pippa and I are summoned to the arena. Lavender and a brown-skinned man who reminds me slightly of Kingsley Shacklebolt exit from her room at nearly the exact same moment. Two glittering pins are attached to the collar of her jacket, and her blonde hair is parted down the middle and braided into pigtails. The pair of us lock eyes for a brief moment before turning to the door. Down the hall we turn separate corners; the next time I see Lavender Brown one of us might be trying to kill the other.

Pippa places me on a small, circular lift. The room we are in is just large enough to fit the pair of us and the platform with little space to move about.

"Stand tall," she commands me. "Do not show your fear. Finally, avoid the heart of the Cornucopia, do you understand?" I nod. Of course I know this, about a third of the kids are killed in that blood fest. "Find what is closest, grab what you need, and _get out of there._"

"Yes," I tell her, my stomach flipping again. I hug my middle, trying to warm and comfort myself at the same time although it isn't cold in the room.

"Okay," Pippa smiles at me then, a large friendly smile that makes me want to cry. It's probably going to be the last one I ever see. "Good luck then girlie."


	7. Raya 1

Chapter Six: Raya

For a moment, nothing exists. Raya closes her eyes and breathes. This is what the Morozov clan had been raised for. From the time any of the children could walk, they were trained to fight; when they became mature enough hold a spoon, trained in weaponry. Before any of them stepped foot in the Durmstrang Institute for Magic, they knew several non-Ministry-Approved (nor monitored) defensive spells and even more offensive ones. Grandmother Gyurgyik often brought this generation's girls into the gardens to learn the names and properties of various magical and non-magical plants and herbs. The pureblood Morozovs, while made wealthy through assorted legitimate businesses, largely maintained its wealth through illegal operations. Not one member of the family was excused from contributing.

In short, Raya and Teras Morozov were no doubt the most dangerous opponents in this year's Phoenix Games. Funny that Raya felt about as dangerous as a flobberworm.

Those at Durmstrang Institute were proud to participate in the Phoenix Games for the first time. After their failure in the Tri-Wizard Tournament - the great Viktor Krum losing to a bloody _fourteen year old_ was a disgrace - the Durmstrang students were eager to truly prove themselves. Pride was a big thing in those halls, pride and power. Krum, in his time, misrepresented their power and allowed Hogwarts to wound their pride; Karkaroff was not going to allow that to happen again. In order to make sure only the best represented Durmstrang, Karkaroff was willling to pull names from the entire student body. The ceremony for deciding its contributors - the "Reaping" it had been called - had been treated like a celebration.

While not exactly fond of the idea of watching people be killed, Raya was still excited by the competition itself. She had been _raised_ on competition. The games were a new chance to prove that Durmstrang was the best. It was better than the Tri-Wizard Tournament because rather than relying on a judge-and-points system, it was based on sheer skill. Who had the skills to survive, who had the skills to outsmart their opponents, who had the skills to be the last one standing. Death was just an unfortunate by-product.

As Raya sat at the table with her Hallestrom House peers, she never believed that she would be one of the two to prove her school's superiority. Cousin Nataliya would have been a better choice, she had the aggressive personality, was eager to prove herself. Nataliya was more cut out for this sort of competition than Raya could ever be. Raya was more cut out for the quiet, sneaky assignments she was given at home, more used to lounging in the background even within her own family. Of course as she stood and approached Karkaroff, Raya had not let any of those questions or insecurities show on her face. It was one of the unspoken rules of the school and one she'd had beaten into her ever since she was a child. People take advantage of weakness. If Raya started letting her weakness show this early into the competition, then her opponents, the kids from the other schools would take advantage and slaughter her.

A guy named Vladimir Djkovik had been named the male contributor. He strode up to the stage with a grin on his face, to the cheers of his Molokov House peers. Raya had been relieved that none of her siblings or cousins had been chosen, but that relief faded when that damned Teras stood up and challenged Vlad for the right to compete. The boy was just so simple-minded; never mind the fact that only one of them could come out of this game alive, or that it was a real possibility that one of them would have to kill the other - no, Teras had to "protect" Raya. Forget that his cousin has most of the same tricks that he did; never mind that he is the heir to the head of the family. She was his Raya and he was going to protect her. Stupid, stupid, stupid man! Didn't he have a sense of self-preservation?

Sometimes, Raya wanted to scream. She did not want this. She did not want to be the one who represented the might of Durmstrang, it's power, strength, and pride. She loved her school, but Raya was just not convinced that Durmstrang was worth dying for. Growing up, Raya had always known that she would eventually have to kill for a living. She just was not ready for that "someday" to be today. And... she was not ready to lose Teras. As much as that man just _annoyed_ her on a daily, even hourly, basis, Teras was still her cousin. He was still hers. Their time should not be over this soon.

For the ten seconds that Raya Morozova is encased in darkness, she thinks about this. This will be the last time she allows herself to feel any sense of fear, dread, or weakness. For this last moment, she will let herself be vulnerable and childish. Because once the lift breaks the surface of the arena, there will not be a moment when she is safe to do so again. Not until she wins.

The twenty-four of them are standing on platforms all around in a circle. Teras stands across from Raya and she knows from experience that his dark-determined expression is in place and it mirrors her own. Cold. Calculating. Heartless. The same face they'd worn for the last two weeks while they helped one another sharpen the skills that were going to be the most valuable to them here. They weren't amused, like the twin girls, didn't show worry like in the eyes of the Malfoy boy. Somewhere to Raya's left, an explosion goes off. A girl screams, the pitch causing Raya wince. Taking the chance and a quick glance over, she notices that the Muggle boy who had been standing three platforms over was now just a red and dusty smudge on the ground. Raya recalls the advice from the woman who dressed her that morning, reminding her not to leave the platform before the gong sounds. Raya had not asked any questions at the time, but was now quite grateful for the advice, and thankful that Teras and his hot-headedness had not been the one blown to bits.

The gong sounds and Raya launches herself from the platform and towards her first goal: a roll of cloth that, from the way it folds, she is sure holds a set of knives. It is fifteen feet in, and another girl, two platforms over seems to be headed in the same direction. In her periphery, Raya can see another kid coming, a short but potentially effective blade poised in his hand. Not only that, but the little blonde bint is only _just _quicker, a yard ahead, and will get to the cloth before her. Internally Raya tenses, certain that her time in the arena is already up; he'll take down the blonde and then end Raya's life too. She'll disgrace her family and her school. She'll let Teras down.

But the boy hesitates when he faces the girl, bringing his blade up short with a tough-act order, "Don't you dare think about it. Don't even touch it, leave."

Raya's lips twitch into the tiniest of amused expressions. He is such a weak little boy that his voice quivers, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear. It's so obvious that Raya is embarrassed that she had felt threatened by him. Now was no time for chivalry and warnings. They'd had a weeks' worth of warnings during their training. Now it was life or death. He'd chosen the girl's life. Now, Raya is choosing both of their deaths.

"Make me," the girl growls back at him. She's pretty tough to try to pull that off, Raya has to give her that. She has no weapon, just two bottles of water in a sling, and the pack of knives a hand-span away from her stretched fingers. Raya surveys the area around them. Teras is already in the centre of the field, cramming materials from the giant treasure chest called the "Cornucopia" into a large canvas bag; four others, the brown-skinned Hogwarts boy, one of the twin girls, the French boy, and another Muggle are quickly approaching; around her, kids were scattering into the forest and collecting items. They were all moving so easily, so leisurely, as if this were a game and soon someone would call "Time Out!" and they could all go home safely. Instead of actually playing the game, they were going for manners and threats. _Screw manners,_ Raya scoffed. _I prefer staying alive._

Forgotten by the pair now arguing about who was going to kill the other, Raya crouches just like her father and uncle taught her, readying her attack.

"Look, I don't want to kill you, but I won't hesitate if you make me have to!" The boy can't hold his blade steady, and jumps when he hears Raya's voice behind him.

"You already did," she spits, just before she taking his head in her hands and twisting. She removes the short sword from his hand as his body falls. The girl still kneels in place, blinking, apparently in shock. "And you should have ran."

Raya's blade does not go in quite where she had intended it to; had she performed such mediocrity in the presence of either of the Morozov heads she knows that she would have endured so much pain, just for being a single inch off. Or rather, Teras would have endured the pain for her, and Raya would have had to put up with his misery.

Three down. Twenty-one to go.

Not pausing to even remove the blade from the girl's body, Raya moved quickly, snapping the necks of two more opponents and running another through; they were either too greedy or too foolish to run while they still had lives. When the clearing is empty of living bodies, Raya gathers two random ready-filled knapsacks and turns her sights to the centre of the arena. Teras should have been able to handle those at the Cornucopia, but she could not help but turn to watch. The dark-skinned Hogwarts boy is making a beeline for the forest with a canvas bag, a heavy limp, and a quiver slung over his shoulders. Raya does not notice a bow, but the boy is too far away for her to take in any other details. The twin girls seemed to have disappeared as well, unless they lay in the small pile behind Teras... and the Muggle boy he is dueling.

Their blades collide loudly and Raya finds herself wondering why neither of them have not simply grabbed another sword or knife from the box and slit the other's throat yet. Men, always so single-minded. Especially Teras; he only ever keeps a single goal in mind, always without a thought for the consequences. For the last five years his primary goal in life has been to prove to his father that he cannot be controlled, by directly disobeying any order he's received; Teras had even skipped out on Raya's fifteenth birthday ball just because Petr had _told_ his son that he was going to attend. Raya loved her Teras dearly, but he really got under her skin sometimes.

With a growl, Raya removes a small, thin knife from the set she'd just placed in her belt. Its blade is needle-thin, and the girl hated that its usefulness was going to be wasted in such a fashion; knife throwing is Raya's primary talent and this truly was the best blade to kill with, it was so sharp and exact...

"This is bullshit," she swore to herself in Russian, something Teras doesn't approve of. "Well I don't approve of saving his ass," she mumbled at her imagination while taking aim.

The knife flies true and strikes the boy in the shoulder, right in his muscle, where the shoulder connects with his collarbone. He gasps and drops his sword, while Teras pauses and turns. His eyes find Raya's immediately and she shoots him the one look he always obeys, the _don't you dare argue, just do what I said NOW_ look Teras only receives when he has pissed Raya off exponentially. Teras raises a defiant brow to her. Raya sighs, reading the questions in his expression. Why did she interfere? Was the blade poisoned? What did he do this time? More concerned with escaping and finding cover, Raya spoke once, "Petrevik;" her cousin's middle name.

Now also irritated with his cousin, yet unwilling to keep "his Raya" neither waiting nor furious, Teras slams his blade point-first downwards, killing the boy, then takes his time about picking a new one. Always proving a point, Teras is, and this one states, "I am not controlled by you." Morozov pride. They both know that she is the only one who can order him about. He snatches up the two large canvas bags he'd discarded during their fight, and stomps past Raya, following the path of the river. Rolling her eyes, Raya follows her cousin as he sulks.

"He was mine, Raya," Teras finally remarks in Russian.

"I saw no label. Besides, I did not kill him, just weakened him. You know I could have killed him if I wanted to."

"Then why didn't you?!"

"Because you wanted to kill him yourself," she tells him. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"I do not care anymore. He is dead, and I've moved on."

"Sure you have."

"You don't believe me capable of killing him myself do you? I took care of almost -"

"You are putting words into my mouth! I disabled him because I saw you were open, and he would have taken the kill if I hadn't. I saved your life, Teras Petrevik, now act like it." Raya swings her knapsack around to hit him in the side. Teras stops, turns, and fixes her with a glare. The pair almost stand toe to toe, Raya at five feet, six inches, Teras at six feet one.

"I didn't ask you to save it," he growls.

"Then next time there is a fight to the death, do not join me. I did not ask you to either."

"Will you let that go?"

"No, because at the end of this game, only one of us will be alive, Teras."

"You will live or neither of us will live, Raya."

"No, Teras, don't-" This is the argument Raya and Teras have had every day since the Reaping Ceremony. It would start with something small, such as what to eat for a meal, or how many laps to run, and escalate to why Teras had to volunteer for the arena and finally, who was going to get out alive. It hurt Raya's heart to think of Teras not being with her like it was supposed to be, but it hurt even more when he talked about killing himself for her.

"You are a hardheaded, stubborn, infuriating thing, do you know that?" Teras tells her gently, pulling her into him with his free arm.

"Now is not the time," she mumbles, but doesn't try too hard to fight him off.

"Too bad, I'm making it time." Stubborn. But even against Raya's better judgement, she gave into him for a moment and just let him hold her. It really was terrible that she would not be able to marry him like she had always thought. After nine years of stubbornly refusing his affection and threatening to run away, to think that she really might have a life without him felt... strange. Empty. Frightening. Now Raya will probably be sent off to Bulgaria or Spain or something, to some other country to be the pureblood wife of some pansy who only expected her to raise the kids and gossip with other so-called "aristocrats." It was the sort of life Raya had secretly been thankful to escape and felt sad that Nataliya would have... Raya pushes away from Teras, not liking the direction her thoughts were taking.

"Let's go," she tells him coldly. "There are still fourteen more out there, and plenty of daylight." Teras looks hurt, but nods his understanding.


	8. Blaise 2

**Chapter Seven: Blaise**

All of that confident crap I was pulling with Malfoy? Was exactly that, _crap_. My stomach is about to fall out of my arse, my breakfast is ready to leap up my throat, and my whole body just wants to drop. But I keep a stony face as the stylist from last night wishes me good luck, his voice nasally and irritating as he calls, _"May the odds be ever in your favour!"_ I desperately want to chop him in his throat and make his balls finally drop. Instead I nod and stare forward as the platform lifts me into darkness for what feels like thirty minutes. It might have only been seconds. I try to breathe deeply and get my heart to beat at a more normal pace. It doesn't work.

My platform emerges, and across the field from of me, I can make out Draco's bright blonde hair. We have our plan, but it can all come falling apart within the next ten minutes. I cut my glance over to Desiree Wayne. She stands equal distance from both of us and is my first target. If I can get to her, that's one less threat, and better chances for myself and Malfoy. Two platforms over from me is Teras Morozov. He's another threat, but when we discussed it, Malfoy and I decided that we would be better off going for someone who scared us a lot less.

I survey my surroundings. Beyond the circle of "contestants," it is actually kind of beautiful. Somewhere off to my left and behind me is a stream, I hear it trickling in the background of the intense silence. The trees to my right are thin and I can see beyond into a field of tall grass. It looks as if it would cover halfway up of my stomach if I were to stand in it. I make a note of that and continue to look around. The entire clearing is surrounded by varying degrees of forest. I want to chance a look behind me, but if the gong sounds, I don't want to waste those seconds turning around, when I could be running to the Cornucopia.

The gong is a little anti-climatic, to be honest. Such a low, soothing, metallic sound to proceed a death race? I guess the Dark Lord has a really ironic sense of humour.

I almost trip over my own legs, jumping from my platform and running full-out for the Cornucopia. My heart is still pounding against my ribs, and I feel like my blood is flowing faster than it's supposed to. In the corner of my eye I see the Morozova girl sneak up behind a boy and snap his neck. I flinch reflexively, imagining the sensation of bone twisting like that... _Focus_. I have to remind myself to look forward and keep moving. It's a struggle though, to know that one person, several yards from me is actively killing, and at least three more are looking forward to killing me. The Dark Ones sure as hell know how to pick them. Between the Morozovs and the Wayne twins, I'm not even sure I'll make it through the night. But I have to. I _refuse_ to die on the first night. No one knows who dies on the first day until the Anthem is played at night. Afterwards there's a gong for every death. If I'm going to die in this place, I don't want to be bunched with eight others. I want my own gong.

That annoying Gryffindor with the camera, Creevey, has gotten to the Cornucopia first. The bag on his shoulder is stuffed full of food, and it looks as if that's all Creevey is here for. I pick a knife from the ground in front of the giant chest of supplies between us, my eyes trained on Creevey. He is so focused on what he is doing that he has barely noticed that I am here. It would be really easy for me to just kill him now. In fact, I _should_ kill him now. He's an easy target, just in the way of the rest of us. He will have to die eventually.

I am just not sure I want to be the one who does it.

I thought I would be able to just kill. It's my life or his, isn't it? But it doesn't feel that way right now. If I kill Creevey now... when he is not a threat... It doesn't feel right. Malfoy will call me a hypocrite and dumb as fuck, but Creevey is not a threat. I can't kill him.

Clearly none of that bothered Desiree Wayne as she buried her own knife hilt deep into Creevey's back.

Instinctively I turn to look for her sister, Delilah. It would be just like the twins to pull a move like that, backstabbing me and Creevey at the same time. Instead, I find Teras Morozov barrelling towards us. When I made the plan with Malfoy, I did not anticipate being cornered by both the twins and the Russian monster at the same time. I also did not anticipate his partner to be as scary as she is.

Desiree grins at me. Somehow, I find it scarier than when the Carrow sister smiles. My fist tightens around my knife handle. Where the _hell_ is Delilah? I start to think, screw the plan and screw Malfoy, I need to get out of this alive. Then I remember that the Morozova girl is out there, killing with her bare hands. If I leave the Cornucopia, I want to leave it with some sort of defence against her.

I take a chance. I throw the knife in my hand at Desiree. She is supposed to be my first target after all. I would be pissing her sister off, but there won't be two of them anymore. My knife misses, but I distract her long enough that I can disentangle and shoulder a quiver of arrows. It's when I stagger sideways, finally pulling the strap free from between two sword hilts that I feel a sharp burn in my side. I see Teras Muggle-duelling another bloke, and Desiree Wayne is still on the other side of the Cornucopia. I think the Morozova girl finally got to me... then I see that Desiree is still grinning.

Delilah Wayne just tried to kill me.

I turn around in just enough time to avoid being stabbed again and only manage to kick her in the leg. She staggers, having lost her balance, but doesn't stay down for too long. I reach behind me into the chest, for the first handle I can find; instead my hand finds the path of a sword as Teras pulls it from the Cornucopia. I swear at the deep slice in my flesh, and Delilah takes advantage of my distraction to strike at me again. I kick her in the stomach this time, and she actually kneels. I reach in again, careful not to be cut again. From the other side, Desiree stabs at my arm with her knife. I swear to Hecate, if I get out of this alive I might kill Malfoy just because.

I grab on the first handle I find and pull out a sword. The weapon is short and stubby, but it's just long enough to leave a deep cut across Desiree Wayne's forearm and wrist. She drops the knife she was attacking me with and I turn on a now-standing Delilah. I move my arm, intending to chop her in the side like she did me (and hopefully kill her), only she catches my blade in between two smaller knives. It's a clumsy move, and she drops one of her knives in the process. I'm thinking I can finally kill this girl, when a knife catches my shoulder. Desiree. Damn. The Waynes are too much for me to handle at one time; whenever I think I have one, her twin comes to the rescue. It will be better for me to run now, while I still have a life to run with. Without second-guessing myself, I take off towards the forest. I pick up a canvas knapsack in my way, but otherwise do not slow or turn around.

This was yet another part of the plan that Malfoy and I didn't think through. We were supposed to meet in the forest. There is always a forest in the games. Only... I don't know where Malfoy is. I sigh and sit down heavily on a tree root. The first wound Delilah Wayne inflicted stings. I check it, just to see what it looks like, but there isn't a thing I can do without a wand or medical potions. I guess I should stop the bleeding... Reluctantly, I remove both the jacket and sleeveless t-shirt they issued me this morning, and wad the shirt so that I can put pressure on the wound. I learned alright from the first aid lady during the training week, but I keep thinking of how much I _really_ miss Madame Pomfrey.

I remain seated only until I convince myself that the bleeding's stopped. Even then, I don't think I am ready, but I force myself off the ground. I have no idea where I should go or even where I am, but I just pick a direction and start walking. It's sometime in between my first and fourth steps when I realise, I didn't grab a fucking bow. Fuck!

I definitely want to kill Malfoy now. This was his plan to begin with, I had wanted to just avoid him until the Final Six, and then keep avoiding him. _He_ was the asshole who wanted to make an alliance. _Malfoy_ said that only one of us should go into the Cornucopia for supplies. Malfoy was probably why I am even in this bloody arena in the first place. I am killing him. Bottom line. At least I have the sword. I nearly died five times for it, and it is the shortest sword I have ever seen, but I do have a sword. I can guarantee that is more than Malfoy has right now.

Even while I internally rant, my eyes are searching for the blonde ferret. The memory of Professor Moody bouncing the transfigured Malfoy in the air brings a smile to my face. He made me promise never to think about it again but... I'm a Slytherin. I don't always keep my promises. The idea of turning Malfoy into another rodent calms me down for the moment. I'm still irritated, but I was the idiot who agreed to the plan and even volunteered for the Cornucopia. I didn't realise how different just watching the games at Hogwarts was from actually being in them. And I was the twat who forgot the fucking bow.

My feet make too much noise as I walk through the forest, and I nearly trip on large tree roots a few times. Belatedly, I realise that I'm not just listening to my clumsy footsteps, but to someone else's as well. For a short moment, I think it's Malfoy, then realise, he would have called out to me. This isn't Malfoy following me, but one of the others, stalking. This is someone who is going to kill me. I slow down deliberately. Those are definitely someone else's footsteps with mine, and they aren't trying too hard to hide.

I run.

This is not that Creevey kid. Whoever is behind me isn't harmless, it's either my life or theirs. My fingers tighten around the sword handle and my heart thuds even harder against my ribs. I hate adrenaline. The person behind me is faster than I am, is getting closer. Instead of pushing harder, I slow down as if I am exhausted. Fleetingly I wonder, maybe it really is Malfoy. If they're chasing me, they could have killed me already, couldn't they? He could just be playing a trick on me.

I can't take that chance though. When my stalker gets close enough, I stop and turn, thrusting my right arm forward until the blade I'm holding meets flesh.

A pair of grey eyes stare back at me in shock.


End file.
